


Songbook

by jbmae17



Series: Songbook [1]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-02-26 15:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18719464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbmae17/pseuds/jbmae17
Summary: Series born from a set of song prompts on Tumblr back in 2013ish.





	1. Right Hand Man

**Right Hand Man**

 

They know.

Of course they know.

No one is happy when they head into the office on a Monday, but at least they're presentable. Here I am trying my damnedest not to keep smiling on the crowded train while looking like I walked through a windstorm. All because of him. 

_You, guy in the too-old, too-wide tie- is anyone trying to keep the memory of you from spilling across their face this morning? I doubt it. Officer, is there a woman wishing you'd have stayed in bed? Well, maybe. You are a fine form of a man, but not like mine._

Maybe I'm a fool to come when he calls. Literally. His ringtone has ingrained a Pavlovian response. That song means the dirtiest of words will spill from the earpiece. Entreaties to touch myself, remove clothing, imagine his fingers and his tongue in any sort of Twister-like combinations: right hand on left breast, teeth on right earlobe. The rare chance to have these words become action was more than I could resist after days, weeks, months, of missed flights, missed opportunities, crowded schedules and empty hours. Nothing else mattered but seizing that small window of time we had to share.

My Catholic guilt is welling up and threatening to spill over. How close am I to the nearest confessional? No, the last thing I need is to traumatize a nice celibate priest. That would be the cherry on the top of the triple scoop of sins I had indulged in without pause.

That mustache. Really. Anyone within ten feet could have seen that it was fake, but there he stood, bold as anything at the top of the escalator, nonchalantly waiting as commuters were drawn up from the underworld. I had to laugh. An ill-fitting jacket covered his lean and well-defined torso and a worn hat flattened his golden curls. He had to be breaking out in hives wearing something untailored and for some reason that touched me. Any man could intercept his lady fair on her way home from work on a Friday, but for him to do so without looking fresh out of a magazine editorial showed real devotion. I knew he considered it a weakness to not be at his best at all times. I swear it causes him physical pain. Where did he even find all of it? I was certain I had never seen those scuffed sneakers before and the jeans were too long, as if that were even possible.

Unsure how casual we needed to be, I took a step past him as I left the station exit. He reached for me with one hand and pulled the other from behind his back to present the cellophane-wrapped flowers I could tell he bought from the man at the corner.

"Darling, I couldn't wait until dinner."

"Why do I have a feeling we're not going to make it to dinner?"

The edges of his smile were lost under the false mustache. "I may have canceled our reservation. No use in letting the table sit unused."

"How considerate of you to think of other people," I replied.

"I try."

"And what about me? Maybe I wanted to go to dinner."

The smile faltered.

"I've already been eating over the kitchen sink all week as I try to expend as little energy as possible after working late every night. Maybe I wanted linen napkins and a dessert cart and someone to refill my water glass every thirty seconds."

"Darling, I thought we should maximize our time alone." An eyebrow raise. Fuck. He knew that would work every time. "We're just around the corner. You can be out of those wet things in ten seconds and we can begin the weekend properly.”

Like Chicken Little I looked up cautiously at the sky and then down to my clothes. "They're not wet."

His tongue snaked in the curve of my ear. "Are you sure?"

Damn him again.

I started to cross at the light toward my street, but he held his ground. "No, this way."

"I thought we only had ten seconds."

"And that's the last time I promise such a quick resolution to what ails you."

We stopped in front of a door leading to a row house. "What is this?"

His hand dipped into the bouquet and pulled out a single key on a ribbon. "This is my home for the next four months of filming. I asked for something near you, not that they knew it was near you, and on the ground floor or lower. I think it's a success on both counts.”

“Why was the ground floor necessary?” I asked as we walked down the stairs past the main entrance.

“All in good time, darling.”

He opened the door on an open space painted the butter-yellow color of an autumn sunset. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” I answered, “but it is a bit like a Las Vegas casino down here. Are there any windows?”

“There,” he pointed to heavy drapes against the far wall, “but they open to the street and I don't want anyone to see what we're up to.”

My head filled with all the promises he had made for this stolen weekend. “Oh, and what would that be?”

He pressed a button on a remote I hadn't noticed and music filled the room. “Dance party, of course.” His hips began to twist and turn in time with the bass, his arms swung out wildly. I stepped away from the splash zone. I remembered the oh-so-polite phone calls and timid knocks on the door the last time we had let the music move us in that hotel in... Los Angeles? Or was it Vancouver? They all blended together.

“No no, you have to dance too or it's not a party.” He reached for me and held me close to follow the rhythm he set. One hand left my hips to unbutton my jacket, then reluctantly let me pull away to drop it off my shoulders and toss onto a chair.

Now facing each other, I unfastened the buttons on my shirt while he kept our hips glued, one set on top of the other. I unzipped his baggy leather jacket to find a polo shirt. Really, where did he get these clothes? No single row of buttons to easily slip out of, I had to run my hands along the narrow circumference of his waist and tug it out of the jeans. Not really a bad alternative. I pushed the fabric up about halfway before he took over and let it loose over his head, knocking off the hat and setting the mustache slightly askew.

“So, are we going to dance all weekend?” I asked as the music slowed.

“Yes, but not exclusively. Before you go, we are going to make it so you can't look at a corner of this place without blushing. I want you to be mortified if your mother were to walk in and asked to sit down.”

Since the extent of my mother's birds-and-bees talk was “Don't get married until you're thirty,” that mission could easily be accomplished. A quick glance had told me there was a lot of surfaces. Either the designer had been very literal or he was preparing to feel homesick for cluttered stereotypical  
British home design. I could already see the teacups piling up and the papers scattered across the floor.

“That sounds like we won't have time for much else.”

“You are not going anywhere until Monday morning. I have everything stocked in for the next few days.”

“You have foreseen my every need?” I asked and was rewarded with lips at the curve of my neck and shoulder.

“It is the first step in my plan to make myself indispensable. By the end of these four months, you'll marvel at how you ever survived without me.”

I already thought that, but he didn't need to know just yet. He was watching me, waiting for my approval. Handsome, smart, charming, sweet, funny, a cock rarely seen outside the of Kentucky Derby, and he still thought he needed to prove himself. I didn't understand it. I was the one who should be wondering what the catch was. I hadn't sacrificed a live iguana at the summer solstice, or met the devil at a windy crossroads.

“All right then. What are we waiting for?” I stepped out of my shoes and my skirt and knelt down on the cold wooden floor.

“This is too hard,” he complained before long, rocking back, knees red.

“The chair?” I offered.

He frowned at the overstuffed lounger. “Too soft.”

“Well then Goldilocks, what would be just right?”

With one arm under my thighs and the other across my shoulders, he lifted me from the parquet to set me down heavily on the arm of the couch. A quick adjustment with me bracing myself against the wall, a throw pillow finally living up to its purpose thrown onto the floor for the benefit of his unpadded frame, and we were off.

“Better?” I asked.

“Damn, I forgot about the mustache,” was the muffled reply, followed by the rip of nylon and the snap of cheap elastic.

“No, ah... could you leave it on for now?”

I'm not even convinced Sunday actually happened, Saturday just kept going in a haze of tangled sleep and tangled wakefulness, one long dream within a dream.

“Darling?”

“'Tis the nightingale, not the lark,” I mumbled. “Let me sleep.”

“You know I want nothing more than to keep you in this bed, but didn't you want to wake up at seven?”

“Yes, you told me you set the alarm. I haven't heard an alarm.” I reached out for him with my eyes still closed.

“That's because I might have forgotten. It's now about a quarter past eight.”

Hazy lustful imaginings vanished as my heart stopped beating. “No. No. No. You promised me I would have nothing to worry about if I stayed here all weekend.”

“I know darling, and I have failed. I could make you breakfast while you get ready. Would that help?”

“With all your bells and whistles and fried meats? I don't have time for that. I'll be lucky to catch a cup of coffee before the train.”

He hopped up from the bed. “Let me do that for you. One moment.”

I thought longingly of the bag I had packed and waiting by my front door. It would have taken fifteen minutes to pick it up and return back here, but that was long past possible. As I suspected, everything I wore on Friday was where it had fallen. I picked the jacket off the chair, slightly wrinkled but those would shake loose in my rush to the subway station. My skirt was still in a perfect circle around my shoes on the floor. It was a classic black suit, no one could really notice it was the same unless they had been paying close attention. Thank God for the leadership seminar that had emptied half the office and gave the half left an excuse to ditch out early. I had seen maybe ten people that day.

The shirt though, my Barbie-pink oxford, was memorable. Mabel from Accounting had made a point of commenting on it, saying it made my cheeks look flushed, unaware I had just received a stream of anticipatory texts. I could not recycle that so soon. Nothing of his would fit, fucking beanpole, but maybe he had a designer tshirt I could borrow, something tight but more forgiving- ooh maybe that robin's egg blue one that skims so smoothly over his muscles...

There was no time for distraction. How did my bra hook itself over the candelabra? If I could even find my panties, they had been ripped to uselessness. Thighs would have to be snapped tight at the knees for the rest of the day.

My self-proclaimed right hand man walked into the bedroom with a comically large ceramic mug of coffee. “Will everything work out?”

I stood there in my skirt, shoes and bra, reaching for the cup. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to use your toothbrush.”

At least he had the decency to mute his horror. He reached for the phone by the bed before shaking his head and dropping his hand.

“No honey, we're not in a hotel this time. No one call and everything is fixed. Don't worry about it. I can just keep my breathing to a minimum until I get to work. I have one in my desk.”

“You're sure you can't pop into yours? It's not far. I made sure of it.”

“I can't,” I answered, looking again at my watch. “I have to be in by nine on the dot for a conference call. You've left me no wiggle room, and stop grinning at that. If you wiggled a little less we wouldn't be in this situation.”

He stepped into the closet. “At least let me loan you this.” His hand held out a lovely patterned scarf. “Tuck it into your jacket and maybe no one will notice you're not wearing a shirt.”

It was wide enough that it might work. I wrapped it around my neck and let the ends fall, which he tucked cris-crossed into the waistband of my skirt, then kissed the bare space between my shoulder blades.

“Of course, I'll know it and will be thinking of little else the rest of the day,” he breathed onto my back before helping me into my jacket.

“Enough already. I'm going to need to be a mature professional. You can't put such thoughts in my head knowing you're going to disappear for the next few weeks.” I ran a hand through my hair. It was clean enough- I did manage to run some soap through before the late-night shower got out of hand, but it had to be a frizzed mess after sleeping on it damp.

“I don't want to leave. It's just some press and then I'll be back. I am so sorry, I tried to give you nothing to worry about and I failed.”

I reached into my jacket pocket and fished out a blank piece of metal and glass. “And my phone is dead.”

He swept me up into his arms. “You probably won't even answer my calls when I get back, will you? I've fucked this all up.”

I wasn't even going to bring up that when he did return he'd be working sixteen-hour days and we'd be no better off than when he was continents away. “This is a mutual lapse in responsibility brought on by overly delayed gratification.” I tugged his head down so that he could see directly into my eyes. “We are not going to part on a down note. I have to go now and you have to pack, but we are coming right back to this point.”

I made myself not look behind me as I rushed out the door and down the street. The train just pulled in as I rushed down to the platform and only when I was seated did I relax and let myself breathe.

Their eyes are all on me as I swipe my card to get in the office door, their heads visible over the flimsy walls like prairie dogs. I check my makeshift blouse, all in place. In five steps I'll be past the communal space and can reassess the situation, but all the attention bears down on me like laser points and I make myself stop and turn to face them.

“Yes, okay, I get it. You may think I only exist from nine to five, Monday through Friday, and then I wink into nothingness until the new week begins, but I am a woman with a life, as surprising as that sounds. I know I look like I spent my weekend defiling every surface of my boyfriend's apartment, because I did, and I ran out the door just like this because if I didn't I would have turned around and went right back in because three days was not enough, to be honest, and I don't know what will be enough, and if you saw him and you knew him, you wouldn't be questioning me because you'd know exactly what I mean. Have I satisfied your curiosity?”

“It's not that,” spoke up Mabel from Accounting, who could very likely have hidden depths but surely her wildest fantasy involved a new book and a cup of cocoa. “It's just that it's only now eight. You're early. Did you forget to set your clock back?”

 

**END**


	2. Into Temptation

**Into Temptation**

 

The dress wasn't black after all. She left the shadows first and once in the light, he could see it was navy. _Don't look back. Keep walking and move on._ But of course she didn't, she turned and gave him a wink. There was a connection between the two of them now.

He had been gone all of one week. His promises couldn't even stand for double-digit days. Too many whiskeys pressed into his hand and no... he couldn't blame it on anything other than his need to perform, to make the audience love him, even if the audience was one person, one woman in a navy dress who maneuvered him into a dark corner and whispered how willing she was to entertain him in return. He took the scene and ran with it, running his hands up from her hips to the dip in her neckline, running his tongue to that one spot behind the ear at the edge of the jaw that made any woman shiver, running his mouth, telling her how beautiful she was.

All the while, Rue was waiting at home. Not really his home, but he planned to make it seem so for as long as filming required. Once that was over, she'd have to realize that home would be wherever they were together and it would be easy to convince her to move to London. At least that was the idea. That idea would be harder to sell once she found out about this, if she found out about this, and it wouldn't be hard in this Instagram/Twitter/YouTube world. With no flashbulbs, no whirring of winding film, no click of the shutter, any hidden moment could be recorded in equal secrecy.

It was all talk and a little touch. It wasn't real infidelity, he tried to tell himself, but the words bounced hollow and weightless inside his head. The last time he had seen Rue, he had sworn to make himself indispensable, a necessary part of her life, her right-hand man. If she knew what his right hand had been into, he'd certainly be decked by her left.

He had met Rue at a party like this; but no dark colors for her, no desire to blend into the shadows. She had appeared in a deep orange dress- the setting sun, a blazing fireball. There was no hiding for her and he was drawn to that, the moth to her flame. Another performer. When she had reached for his hand and led him away from the crowd late into that night, it was different. She hadn't been after an anonymous clutch in private, she set him before the piano she had spied in the next room and asked him to sing with her. If anyone had walked through the unlocked door, she would have asked them to join in, but he found he was glad he hadn't had to share her.

So he made it his purpose to be the one to make her gasp over the phone as he whispered promises for their next meeting, to see her racing toward him past airport security gates, to keep that bright smile on her lips by dressing like a clown in the middle of the city, to hear her laugh over his imitations of his co-workers, to encourage her to send pictures of herself to him while off on her own adventures.

He demanded his new flat be painted the color of sunshine to keep her warm when she was there and to keep her close when she wasn't. That flat was his diva moment- he had felt sick being so forceful about that location and that detail, as benign as it was, but it had been worth it to see her face as he opened the door.

He had made her make him an essential part of her life, and here he was doing things he could never tell her.

She was waiting by his door, the midnight woman. Of course a girl like her would find out his room number, but he smiled weakly without stopping and locked himself in alone, leaving her out in the hallway. Lying on the bed, he stretched out, still dressed, and reached to turn on the light, its weak artificial warmth to keep him company until he knew if the arms of sleep would accept him.

**END**


	3. And After All

**And After All**

 

“Darling, we're headed out for drinks. Why don't you stop by and say hello to everyone?”

“Are you sure?” Tom had been on set all day and I couldn't imagine he'd want to be out much longer.

“They're dying to meet you, and I've got this splitting headache so you would be the perfect excuse for me to leave early.”

“It's nowhere too fancy, is it? I'm not exactly dressed up.” I had spent my Saturday in blissful inactivity while he raced across the city streets, chasing down Russian spies or something.

“No, no, not at all. I'm sure whatever you have on will be fine. I'll text you the address once I know it.”

It was easy enough to find him in the bar. He was at the eye of the largest group, everyone pressing in to be closer to him. The problem with dating the most charming man in the world is you never can tell exactly how he's interacted with everyone before. They may have had a grand passion for the ages, he simply picked up a pen she dropped once, or they'd never met until now, it was hard to tell.

“There she is!” he called out when his eyes met mine. I pressed my way through the reluctant masses to reach the center of the storm. “Everyone, this is Rue.”

“Did you need your designated driver already?” asked someone at the end of the table.

Tom grinned. “I am going to call it a bit of an early evening this time. One more and we have to go,” he said to the groans and complaints from the crowd.

I wondered how long it would take me to not feel the stab of jealousy as he clasped the endless streams of beautiful people tightly as they spoke, as he leaned in to whisper in their ears. He was always quick to turn and include me, but so few of them cared, I found it easier to wander off on my own during these times and find some entertainment that wasn't dependent on him.

“So you're Tom's new girl,” asserted a voice behind me at the bar. “I'd been hoping to find you.”

I turned to face a man who easily was “the money” of the production. It wasn't any one thing about him, but I had been around enough of them in my time that I could sense it. He was someone who needed to be kept happy and reassured, so I smiled and held out my hand. “Yes, I am. How did you guess?”

He passed my drink to me and handed the bartender a folded bill. “It was easy to recognize you. Tom had passed around this picture of you both one day early in the negotiations, a couple months ago now. You had just gotten back from Rio and it was from there.”

“Oh, did he?” Not all of those pictures were meant for public viewing.

“Yes, it was very sweet. I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself last week in Milan, but it seemed rude to interrupt young love. I'm glad I can finally meet you properly. I'm Al Oliver, one of the producers.”

The glass in my hand felt too heavy to hold. If the rest of my body was suddenly numb, my mind was ablaze. There were so many ways I could ask what he meant but if I paused too long, he'd know something was off.

“Nice to meet you, and I apologize. I'm afraid us artistic types put a little too much importance on emotion and expressing it freely.”

He chuckled. “That's right, you work for the local children's theatre. I try not to get too involved in that side of the process, myself. It takes away some of the shine, in my opinion, to see how the sausage is made.”

I looked over at Tom carousing, friends with everyone, no sign of a headache. “It does lose a little glamour when you know too much.”

“I have to admit, I was specifically looking for you for a reason. As it turns out, I have a picture of you on my phone from that night and I thought you might like to see it.”

I kept my expression polite, waiting for him to continue. This would all make sense soon enough. “Is that so?”

He squinted at the small screen. “Give me a moment. I'm afraid in my vanity I don't regularly carry my glasses along with me.” He swiped the his finger across the surface a few times. “I think this is the one. See, the two of you are in the background.”

He handed it to me and indeed, behind the subject of the photo, were Tom and a brunette woman, his arm around her waist and his lips at her neck, the flash lighting up their darkened corner at the edge of the picture.

“He was so wrapped up in you, he didn't hear me calling for him.”

“That's Tom. He's known for his intense focus,” I said, feeling a piece of me wither as I laughed.

“I do like your hair better now. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” I answered as the room began to tilt.

“I have to run, but tell Tom I was looking for him.”

“I will.”

It was like he had never left though, as I stood there deaf to the noise and blind to the crush all around me, replaying every sound of that conversation and every detail in the picture, searching for one flaw to bring the whole thing down so I could discount it and regain the happiness I had so recently.

That first night back, after too many hours on too many planes, time zones and routine becoming things of hazy memory, Tom had insisted I come over, luring me with the promise of cheap souvenirs and expensive wine. I gladly accepted, though once there it was hard for me to ignore his constant yawning and slow responses to my questions. As happy as I was to see him, I tried to make my apologies and leave before too long, but he caught me up in his wingspan and held me close without saying a word. It had felt desperate, and I had thought at the time that absence had simply made the heart grow fonder. This theory had been given some weight later in the night when I felt him lean over to check if I was still asleep and then breathe out an “I love you.” If it was just a practice run, I wasn't going to stir and let him know I heard. In the days since, he hadn't tried again, but now I had to wonder if maybe he had been trying it on for size and realized it hadn't fit.

“Darling, are you ready to go? I think I've reached my limit.”

I looked up into glassy blue eyes. “Me, too.” I answered. “Follow me, I didn't park far.”

“Hang on! Tom! Any chance I could catch a ride with you guys? I left my wallet back in the makeup trailer so I can't catch a cab, no one else wants to leave and I have a video chat scheduled with my daughter back in Paris in an hour.”

“No problem, man,” Tom answered and twisted his head my way. “Is that fine with you, darling? You are the one driving.”

I gave my answer to the tiny man looking at me hopefully. What was his name again? Something French. Jean? Sebastien? Etienne? “I wouldn't mind. Where are you staying?”

His brow creased and his lips pursed. “Big stone place, York Street I think it is. Purple flowers in the windows.”

“I know it. I can get you there in ten minutes.”

“Thank you!” I was rewarded with an enthusiastic hug. Tom's eyes narrowed as I was engulfed in the embrace, as if he had a right to be offended.

The men followed me out into the parking lot. When Tom reached for the passenger door, I hit the lock button again. “I'm sorry, but if I'm to be the taxi driver, everyone sits in the back.”

Tom gave me a cocked eyebrow and a tilt of his head but our extra companion grasped him around the waist and laughed. “I like her, Tom. She's... authoritative. I know I enjoy it when a woman orders me around.”

Another click and the doors were unlocked again. The two men seated themselves as I started the car and pulled out onto the street. The extra time to swing by the hotel and back would be good. I needed a little longer to process my thoughts.

“You know, that was actually very smart of you, Rue,” said our passenger. “Tom's hands seem to get much more animated after a few drinks. I wouldn't want you to crash because he was too affectionate.”

“Of course I knew that,” I answered. “How else did I end up here? This relationship was born of whiskey sours and unused party rooms. Maybe I shouldn't have left the two of you so close together. I hope you can defend yourself from his advances. Few can.”

I had tried to keep my voice light, but one quick glance in the mirror told me Tom was not feeling the joke. Why should he be upset? He should feel proud. If he had gotten away with it this once, how many other times was I unaware of? Every time I called and got a, “Sorry darling, long day. Will ring tomorrow” or only every other time? When I would get “No need for you to come here, I'll be busy the whole time. Maybe next week?” Every question and doubt I had brushed aside over the last ten months now queued up and waited its turn to be weighed and examined.

By the time Jean-Paul, I remembered his name at last, stumbled his way out of the in car front of his hotel and we pulled into the space assigned for Tom's apartment, I wasn't sure what I knew to be true.

“Maybe I should just leave you here and go on home. I'm sure you need some sleep before tomorrow.”

Long arms reached over the back of my seat and his nose bent my ear roughly. “Nonsense. You are what I need.”

Inside, Tom threw his jacket in the general direction of the armchair and moved to fiddle with the stereo. “What would you like to hear, darling?”

“The truth,” I answered, but the lack of change in his posture as he scrolled through the stations told me he hadn't noticed.

“Why are you here?” I asked one he made a selection and turned back to me.

His puzzled expression melted to a grin. “This is my house.”

“Why is your house here in this city?”

“I suggested it to the production company as a good shooting location, and coincidentally, it's where you are.”

“Why did it matter where I was?”

“Because it was cheaper than flying you out to me every weekend?” He stepped closer. I couldn't have that. If I let myself get wrapped up, I'd lose my nerve.

“Is that what you usually do?”

The grin faded. “What is it? Something has been off with you.”

“What is it about me that made you take such a drastic measure?”

He sat down on the couch and motioned for me to join him, but I stood my ground. “I'm not sure I'd call it drastic, just advantageous. Everything I need right now is in one place, as if there was a sign that said, Stop Here. Settle.”

“Settle?” The word hit into me with a sharp point.

Tom pressed a hand to his forehead. “No, not like that. I meant settle down, start to carve out a space in the world that's just mine, before realizing too late when I needed to take time for myself.”

He reached out for me again. I felt my legs ready to take the step, but I had to see this through.

“Well, you can't settle yourself if you're always on the move, working and volunteering and experiencing all you can. You make your own choices, and leaving yourself open for everything means you can't continue on just one path. Have you ever thought that this isn't your time, Tom, to slow down?”

He slid a grin over his serious expression and began to approach me, indirectly, a cat stalking its prey. “Of course, but I couldn't let this opportunity slip away.”

“I'm afraid you have to.” I took a deep breath. If he wasn't going to admit it, I had to say something. “I'm not going to be the one who saves you. The thing is, while you were gone, someone came back into my life, and I think that's the path I need to take.”

The way his face paled and his hands began to shake, I could see he believed me. “No.”

“I'm sorry, Tom.”

“Who is it?” he asked, knowing full well we never discussed our past.

I could give him a name, a vague shape of a man he could lash out at, but I needed to keep this simple. All he had to know is that we could no longer be us. He could keep his infidelity unspoken and I didn't have to live with it. “It doesn't matter.”

“Of course it bloody well does. The way I feel about you, no man has ever felt before. I refuse to accept he loves you the way I do, whoever he is. I refuse to accept you could love him at all, much less more than you love me.”

“That's one of the things.” I had to turn away. He'd know I was lying if I kept looking at him, and even if he didn't, I was sure my resolve would fail if I looked into those eyes. “I'm not sure I do love you. What we have is fun, but it's not exactly forever material, is it? We've never planned more than a few days ahead at a time. We never talked about love. Anything more than this just wasn't going to happen.”

He was now pacing the room. “I've been back for days. You couldn't have told me before? You wait until now? We were fine yesterday. We were happy this morning. At least, I thought we were.”

So did I.

“I was avoiding confrontation. It was a chickenshit thing to do, I know, but I was trying to find the right moment.”

“And the right moment is well after midnight, when I'm not sober? You blind me with this and run for the door?”

“I couldn't hold it in any longer. I'm sorry. I'm being honest with you now, Tom.”

“In that case...” he began. I waited. This was his last moment to explain what I had seen from Milan, but he cut himself short. “Just go.” He sat down on the edge of the couch and dropped his head into his hands.

If there was nothing more to be said, then there was no reason for me to stay.

 

**END**


	4. The Sound of Your Voice

**The Sound of Your Voice**

 

“I'm sorry, but I can't answer the phone right now. If you could please leave me a message, I will get back to you as soon as I can.”

He knew even if the phone was off, there had to be a record that he called every morning at three. At this point he didn't care if he looked like a stalker. Every night he watched the video clip on his phone of Rue telling a long and ultimately not very funny joke while sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed in Rio and every morning he listened to her voicemail recording before heading outside to wait his for his car to the set.

Now he knew he looked like a stalker. Two blocks down, he stopped across the street from Rue's building, hat pulled down low, leaning against the lamppost like a film noir private eye. Her windows were dark, of course. It was still four hours before she'd hear the chimes from her alarm. For nearly a month now, he'd left the house early in the hope that he'd find her lights on. What he'd do at that point got a little hazy. In his most daring romantic version of events, he'd stride up to her door and knock and when she opened it, dressed in some flimsy bit of chiffon, he'd gather her into his arms and demand she take him back. Then she'd agree breathlessly as he carried her to the bedroom. In his most violent daydreams, he'd confront this mystery man, who was always dressed and never in the bedroom despite the late hour, and swing out and connect with a hard punch to his jaw. He'd fall and, far from being horrified, Rue would leave her new suitor on the floor and beg for forgiveness. He could practically feel the blood seeping from the broken skin on his knuckles as he played the scene in his head before walking back to his front step.

“I've been hoping each morning that I would find you a little more alive, but no, you are still a miserable shit.”

“Thank you, Jean-Paul, for your concern. I'm glad to know my pain is being monitored so closely.”

“I just still can't believe this.” Jean-Paul turned to the man in line behind him at the craft service table. “What kind of man would be preferential to our young Tom here? How could any woman choose to leave him?”

“Maybe he's not very good in bed?” offered the cast member.

“An obvious choice,” answered Jean-Paul. “I can't say I know for certain, but I wouldn't think a man who could dance like he did in the scene yesterday would have much issue in the bedroom. Any other theories?”

“Maybe he cheated on her?”

“Another good possibility, but if that were the case, young Tom would have told us that. No, I have heard him speak of this woman. He adores her. Sometimes a man can slip, but not this man, not to this woman.”

Jean-Paul was so adamant it made him want to drop his plate and walk away, certainly nothing on it held his interest any more, even if a bite could fit past the twists and knots his stomach was in. There was no way to admit the truth now, that he hadn't fought for her because he had no right, no moral high ground. He'd end up looking like a complete fool, though he'd play the fool a thousand times over if it meant Rue could forgive him. Which was another problem. How could he expect her to forgive his actions when he couldn't forgive them himself?

“Does she have a history with the other guy? That happens a lot.”

“Once again, you are very perceptive, my new friend. I do believe she mentioned it was someone from her past. Tom thinks it may be from a conference in St. Louis, but I told him no one falls in love in St. Louis.”

His phone gave a text chime and he gratefully stepped out of the line, leaving Jean-Paul and the extra to continue their conjecturing without him. The hope that lived in his chest from the time he heard the sound to the moment he held the screen in front of him faded as he saw it wasn't Rue. Al Oliver, of all people, had sent him a photo.

_I have to delete everything off my phone, so I thought I'd finally send this along. I'm sure you have nicer ones of you two, but Rue seemed to like it and I don't have her number._

He looked over the photo, puzzled why the producer would think Rue would want a picture of two cinematographers when he saw the flash had caught on his own curls, the wild corkscrews even professional stylists resignedly sigh over when they saw them after the slightest bit of neglect, bent over the edge of a midnight blue dress.

_Rue saw this?_ he wrote back, fingers shaking over the short words.

_Yeah, showed her at the bar last month. Nice girl._

The firm conviction he had that no one had seen him that night still fought with the evidence before his eyes. He had been certain his own guilt was the only proof, but now the one person he had tried to keep this from knew about his moment of weakness.

That night when she stood in the center of the room and told him he was not welcome in her future, she had seen what he'd done. The phrases she used replayed in his mind- is that what you usually do? Leaving yourself open for everything means you can't continue on just one path. Have you ever thought that this isn't your time, Tom, to slow down? What we have is fun, but it was never exactly forever material.  
She knew he'd never admit it, that he'd never put himself in a place to begin a confrontation, so she found a way out without embarrassing him. Why did she think he deserved that? The simplest answer was that she loved him. This was why there had been no sign of this other man, this ghost from her past made flesh again who had convinced her to leave their happy life. He was the one who drove her away.

He ran in long strides to the nearest bathroom and his stomach clenched as he retched with nothing to release but concentrated stomach acid. There was no relief in knowing his indiscretion was not a secret anymore. It was worse. He should have been the one to tell her. Now Rue had two reasons to not trust him again.

“I am a shit. No, I'm not even that. There are purposes for shit. I am a useless excuse of a man.”

The mirror did not offer a counter-argument.

He really needed to focus. They were going to call for him soon to interrogate sleeper Russian agents to find the missing plutonium. He had to be strong and dispassionate. He needed to be Agent Rickard Chase right now, not Tom. People were counting on him to be professional. Even though he couldn't see how, he had to push this to the back of his head, go out with a smile on his face and do his job.

His fingers pressed for Rue's number out of habit. This time he would leave a message. He'd ask for a chance to talk, that's all. If she needed to stay away, then at least they could resolve that while speaking the truth. The phone was ringing this time. It was on and there was a chance she could answer it. As he played their reunion scenario in his head, the voice, the calm cool voice of his reason, so very polite and so stereotypically British, took over- What good would it do to make her confirm the truth? Do you need to see her face as you tell her your love lapsed while you were halfway across the world? She's already made her choice. Maybe you should just leave her be.

“I'm sorry, but I can't answer the phone right now...”

He ended the call and walked back on set.

 

**END**


	5. Not a Day Goes By

**Not a Day Goes By**

 

I wasn't expecting the phone to ring and nearly dropped it out of my hand. A picture of a sun-drenched Tom on the beach in Rio appeared on the screen. My thumb instinctively reached to swipe across and take the call, but I stopped myself. This was the way it had been for weeks. For whatever reasons he had for calling at all hours, opening up a line of communication never seemed one of them. He never called when he knew I could answer and he never left a message.

I can't say it didn't give me hope that he hadn't just let go after this long, but it was hard to have a conversation with someone who wouldn't speak. Since I had let him believe he had been the wronged party, I had to let him make the first move. If he still had something to say, why didn't he say it? He could run his mouth in any other situation.

Wait. He runs his mouth.

I had an idea.

Yes, a quick scroll through my contacts confirmed I did still have a number from the week we all spent in France. If Tom talked to anyone, it would be him. Or Chris, but I didn't know him. Or his sisters, but this was not a situation to cross family lines.

“Rue, this is a surprise,” the voice rumbled across the line.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” I didn't want to admit that I had tuned out when he and Tom had spoken about work during our vacation. I had no idea what he had lined up these days.

“No, I'm free, but I don't know what you could want to talk to me about.”

“I think you know exactly what I want to talk about. What happened in Milan? He must have told you.”

A pause. “I don't know if I should. I wasn't there. Tom needs to tell you himself.”

“I'm about tired of stiff upper lips. He won't initiate a conversation that will hurt me. If you know anything, please tell me so I can speak to him without being completely blind about all of this. If he's a dirty lying cheater, why does he keep calling?”

“It's not what you think, Rue. Well, it is a little. Tom admitted he let himself get carried away, but the realization hit him pretty quickly and he swore to me nothing else happened. He feels horribly guilty. He's convinced he's ruined everything and the future is bleak.”

I had to laugh at his solemn pronouncement, despite myself. “How is his future is bleak- Mr. Superstar, Greek god, jet-setter? What hope does anyone else have then?”

“You see, he doesn't want to end up like me, wondering if family life is out of reach.”

I wanted to comfort him, to tell him there was still time, but who was I to say such things when I had no control over my life, much less his?

“Well, I don't want to simply be the nearest one as his biological clock is ticking.”

A long breath into the mouthpiece. “I didn't mean it like that. Tom thinks he doesn't deserve to explain things to you because you've already moved on. He's not going to make a scene.”

“I've noticed.”

“Is there another man? If you have moved on, I don't see why you can't let him be. Nothing he could say or do at this point should matter.”

If he was going to be honest with me, I owed it to him to be honest myself. “There isn't one. I was just trying to keep him from being the bad guy.”

“Why would you do that?”

Maybe this wasn't a good idea. A few late nights chatting over a bottle on the terrace after Tom went to bed to dream of his early morning run didn't make for kindred spirits, but he was still on the line.

“I don't know. I figured if he was never going to tell me, I had to find a way out. Knowing but pretending not to know was going to crush me. With all his _feel the fear, do it anyway_ talk, how do you reconcile that with his being afraid of confrontation?”

“There's a difference between adrenaline and dread. You shouldn't be telling me this, you need to talk to him. Keeping up a lie will be more effort than just speaking the truth.”

“I know. I just wanted to hear someone else tell me. Thank you.”

3:01 am, there was the ringing right on schedule. I clicked the light on and pressed the screen before he had a chance to hang up. I had to. “Hello?”

Sounds of the outdoors, wind passing the mouthpiece. “Is it really you?”

“Yes, it's really me.”

 

**END**


	6. Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in My Hand

**Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in My Hand**

 

Of course she was going to pick up one of these nights, but still the click and the hello- so much more timid and cautious than the assertive greeting on her voicemail, threw him. It could be his imagination running ahead of him.

“Is it really you?” he asked.

“It’s really me.”

“Am I, err, am I disturbing you?” Maybe she kept the phone on because she was waiting for a call from someone else. It was only Thursday night, or rather early Friday morning, and she had to be in to work. This wasn’t an emergency, at least not for her, and he really should let her go back to sleep.

“Not at all,” she answered. “I was already awake.”

“Why?” As soon as the word was out, his sense of decorum kicked in and he regretted it. How she spent her time was no longer his business. This was a bad idea. He had indulged himself far too long with these calls.

“How are you?” she asked, avoiding his question.

“I’ve been better.” He had no defenses left. He wasn’t looking for pity, but there was no point in playing the quietly suffering hero.

“Me too.” He wanted to know why to this even more. They had parted so she could be happy, and if she wasn’t he had to know if there was something he could do.

“Are you out for a run?”

“No, no. Waiting for the car to the set. We’re filming the helicopter fight scene today. Back in the old whirly bird for me.”

“Please be careful, sweetheart.”

His heart jumped into his throat at that last word, begging to speak without that damn solicitous brain getting in the way.

“It’s just a few establishing shots, then it’s all CGI and stunt men,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light.

“Still…” she answered and the concern in her voice was a balm for his fevered soul. She still cared. That’s all he had been hoping for.

“I do know what I’m doing.”

He had meant it as a joke, but the soft “oh” he received in response let him know she hadn’t heard it that way.

“You know me,” she said, distance in her tone now. “Those things make me nervous. Of course you have everything under control. You’re a grown man, you don’t need me to fret and fuss over you.”

“You’re right,” he answered while shifting the bag on his shoulder, but the strap slipped down, jarring his shoulder and the phone dropped from his hand, the glass making an unmistakable crackle as it hit the sidewalk.

“Oh shit!” The screen was black underneath the spiderweb.

He had started to say, , but now she was left with the impression that he agreed that her lecture was unnecessary and he had hung up on her.

What to do?

He stared up and down the empty street. Where could he go to continue the conversation at three in the morning? Even if payphones weren’t a thing of the past, they were so much more stealthy in this country, not bright red beacons on the thoroughfare like at home. The change in his pocket most likely wouldn’t do him any good.  
Would the driver let him use his phone? While they had chatted genially over this time, he wouldn’t want to presume they had reached that level of familiarity and he wasn’t due for a while yet. The longer he waited, the more certain Rue would be that he had ended the conversation.

There was one obvious solution. “Fuck it,” he said to the air and ran across the street.

He knocked once and, in the silence that followed, considered fleeing. This was too much, too soon. She hadn’t agreed to see him. But the door opened and there she was, the ends of her flannel pajama pants pooling at her feet, the well-worn plaid pair he recognized, and a tight t-shirt clinging to her breasts and shoulders and hips. She didn’t look like someone roused from sleep. She had been awake when he called after all.

“Tom?”

He held out the broken phone in answer, keeping a grip on the useless gadget so his hands stayed occupied. It was an effort to not reach for her. Looking beyond her, he searched in the dim light for any sign of another occupant, this stranger who had appeared and taken his Rue from him. His eyes landed on her suitcase, with bright red flowers splashed across it, and a stack of comic books and periodicals fanning out at the top of a carry-on hanging from its handle.

“You’re going somewhere?” he asked. Was she going to meet _him_?

She turned to follow his gaze. “Yes. New Orleans. A friend of mine, Terri, asked me to come along with her for the weekend. I’m afraid I haven’t shaken the travel bug.” She smiled weakly. “My flight leaves at nine.”

There was no need for her to lie, but still he felt jealousy. New Orleans was where he had met her, at that crazy party, in the house with so many rooms. They had run through nearly all of them, some dark and quiet, others bright and full, until they had ended up outside in the garden. Moonlight sparkled off the bowl of the large fountain in the center, the splash and gurgle of the water low under the sounds of the nocturnal wildlife which made Rue grasp his arm and cling close to him. While he was planning the best moment to turn to her, she had found one at the edge of a raised flower bed and stepped onto the bricks so that she could be the one to kiss him. It was strange to reach up for her lips, as her fingers twisted in the curls behind his ears, but it was sweet and perfect and maddening and sating and never enough and the start of something he always wanted but never found and most of all nothing like the kiss that caused it all to collapse in Milan and why the hell did he even do that? Why did he ruin it all?

“Will you see Etienne while you’re there?”

It pained her to smile. He could see that. Reminding her of that night hurt her now, too.

“Terri knows him, so I’m sure we’ll end up there one night.”

“I wish I could go.”

“He’s not going anywhere. I’m sure you’ll find yourself there again one day.”

“What fun would it be without you?”

Now she looked at him squarely. “Oh please, Tom. It’s not like your days were darkness and despair before me. You manage to entertain yourself.”

Before he could protest, she continued.

“Not everyone gets an endless summer. We knew this thing had an expiration date from the day we met.”

“Did we?” Yes, he did think that at the start, but not now.

“I thought maybe we were on the edge of something great, but you cracked it, so now I’ll never know.”

This was his moment. She had given him the opening. “Darling, I know you’ve seen the photograph. Would it matter if I tried to explain?”

“I gave you time to explain it, Tom. I was waiting.”

“That was the worst of it,” he answered, very aware that she had not invited him inside. He tried to keep his voice low and steady. “Nothing else happened.”

“This time,” she said. “But as a predator on a bounteous savannah, there will always be fresh meat for your consumption.”

“No. Never again. I love you.”

“No one said it was a question of love,” she answered, turning away from his use of that word. He was relieved to say it out loud and ashamed that it came out like this, like a plaster to try and cover up the wound he had caused in her.

“But it is now. I could never do such a thing again. I know this weak moment has put me at a disadvantage against your…” What term could he use and still be polite? “Your other man, but I don’t want to walk away. I want you to know I’ll fight if I have to.”

“You didn’t want to fight the last time I saw you. You told me to leave.” She wrapped her arms tight across each other, trying to make herself a smaller target.

“I wasn’t in my right mind. We were equally at fault and I needed to sort it all out.”

She stood there, saying nothing. He didn’t dare move closer until she gave an answer.

At last, she looked up. “Don’t you have to get to the set?”

_Fuck._

He checked his watch. Morgan would have been waiting outside his door for ten minutes now and his calls were going straight to voicemail.

“Can I see you once you return?”

“If that’s what you want,” she said, and before it could register, he found her arms around him and her lips on his cheek.

“What was that for?” he asked, curious and gratefully not caring at the same time.

“For luck,” she said. “I still don’t like helicopters and I want you safe.”

He’d take it. He leaned down and gave her a light kiss in return. “You’re going to be up in the air yourself. I want you back safe as well.”

**END**


	7. Sleeping to Dream

I sent him a photo of the view from my hotel room window to show I had made the trip safely. _Feet firmly back on the ground_ , I added. _You, too?_

After that, I walked away from the phone. The whole point of this trip was to leave everything behind. I was packed and ready and then there he was, Yes, I answered the call, but there was still a distance involved. Once he stood right in front of me, my careful plans vaporized and I found myself with my arms wrapped around him like I had any right to do that. Then he was gone before I could tell him there never was another man, there might never be. 

I finished unpacking. Still no answer. I spent a good twenty minutes with my heart racing, imagining smoking wreckage and sirens until I remembered the cracked device in his hand. He could have sent someone out to get another one, but then again maybe not, maybe he was still in action hero mode. Maybe in the glare of day, he realized that midnight promises are as thin as moonlight. 

Terri and I hadn't planned to meet until late afternoon. The last thing I needed was a stretch of empty time unsupervised. The urge was irrational but strong to make my apologies and head back to the airport. My usual exhilaration to be somewhere different had yet to appear. I wanted to be home because home had changed. It was no longer a place, but a feeling, a shared sense of peace and belonging. Without it now, nowhere felt comfortable. I had to know if it would ever return.

With no pride, I dialed one last time, not surprised to wind up in voicemail.

"I don't know what I'm doing. I don't want to be here. I want to be looking up into the sky with my hand over my eyes watching as you land, ducking down from the spinning rotors as you try to cover up the fear in your eyes with a big wide grin." I paused for breath. "I lied. There is no one else. At least on my side. I thought it was giving you an out, a way to exit gracefully, but it's a game in the end and that's unfair. If I wanted an honest end, I should have been honest. I wanted revenge. I wanted to return at least some of the pain you had given me. If you really are willing to fight, I have to admit there's no rival, just me, hiding behind an imaginary new beginning so you wouldn't feel sorry for me." 

Staring at the screen changed nothing. The device in my hand remained silent and dark. Short of checking out and returning to the airport, there was no more for me to do. Maybe it was the heat of the battle that spurred him on last night. Without the chance to play the part of the spurned lover, did the idea lose its shine? It wouldn't be the first time that one of his brilliant plans faded once reality set in. 

By the time Terri knocked on my door I was so wrapped up in my dark thoughts I couldn't really see her in front of me.

"You don't look like you're ready to roam the streets in search of debauchery."

I shook my head slowly. If I left this room, everyone would be able to read my face and see that I had once again made the wrong decision. The shame of it all sunk deep into me.

"What happened?" 

"I told him the truth. Well, ok. I didn't tell him, tell him. I left a voicemail, but it wasn't like it came out of nowhere. He called and I answered and we talked and then he dropped his phone and then he was at the door, and I couldn't help it, I threw myself at him like nothing ever happened and then he had to go and I had to go and so it was like things got better but then not really because how could they when he didn't know everything I knew, so I called but I guess his phone is still broken or maybe it's not but I had to get it out so I told his voicemail and not him so that I had it out and now he can hear it if he wants and what happens next is up to him, but nothing has happened next and it's been hours and he has to have gotten out of the helicopter by now and if there was something bad that happened it would have been international news and I would have heard about it, and since I haven't, I have to assume that he either heard it and it doesn't matter to him because he doesn't want me back after all or he hasn't heard it because he's in no rush to get a new phone and listen to any messages I might have left because he changed his mind and neither one of those is good, and there are no good options when I haven't heard from him and I'm supposed to be here to spend time with you and now I'm afraid that all I'll want to do is keep my hand on my phone in case I don't hear it ring and I can feel it buzz, but it won't buzz, will it?"

Terri took the phone from my hand and I watched as the pressure from her finger shut down the power. "In all the years I've known you, you have never waited around for a man. We aren't here to mope around and feel tied to a call that might not come. I think I followed everything you said, and I'm glad that you have everything out in the open now, but putting an artificial countdown on when he needs to have a coherent response isn't fair. You're here now and before this morning, you were happy about coming on this trip. Let's go back to how you felt when we spoke last night."

She grasped me lightly by the shoulders. "Better now? Calmer?"

My first reaction was to argue that this was different, that I totally did wait around for this man, that I asked how high when he said jump, that my overwhelming urge was to snatch the phone back up and power it on, but where was my justification, where was my proof that things would work out in the end? Unwilling to begin a losing argument, I had to nod my head and agree. "Better."

Of course, we had to run into Etienne on our first stop. "Where is your young man?" he asked after the initial greetings.

"Working," I answered before Terri could give another answer, just as true but less diplomatic.

Etienne shook his head deeply. "Now, from what I recall, he promised that you wouldn't be alone the next time you woke up in New Orleans and he didn't seem the sort who would break such a promise."

Of course, he would remember. I had been forcing that memory back with both hands all day. 

"Best laid plans, and all that," I managed to force out with some measure of cheer.

"Stop by the house later," he replied. "There will be plenty of men who know better than to make promises they can't keep."

While Terri laughed and agreed, I knew I wanted nothing more than to sleep. My mind's version of the midnight garden was the only one I wanted to visit and I would only leave at the sound of a knock at the door. 

_END, Songbook_


End file.
